XCOM: Enemy Mine
by SameOldScum
Summary: This series is a collection of interviews, action reports and pretty much anything concerning my characters on XCOM 2. The story itself takes place mostly after the end of the main campaign, DLC included. The series isn't intended to be linear, since I write it out of fun and following the whims of my twisted little mind.
1. Chapter I - Intro

It was the middle of the night, but there was much more light than during the day. The city was burning. People were running around, screaming, trying to get away from the creatures prowling in the streets, looking for them. It wasn't the sight of my first Sectoid, the first contact with an extraterrestrial species to frighten me; it was the palpable feeling of mindless panic, the overwhelming confusion. I could almost hear the thoughts of the people in the city: " _This can't be real. It isn't real. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is_ _not_ _happening._ " It's the same nightmare, every damn time, and despite the fact that twenty years have passed since that fateful night, I'm still not sure if it'll ever go away. In the dream, I'm running, running as fast as I can. I think I actually did run away, that night, but not immediately. The Sectoid tried to take control of my mind. I'd seen him extend his tiny, scrawny arm towards me, and a surge of energy and unknown words in an unknown language collide with my mind.

I know that now because I'm trained to recognise the various processes concerning the possession of another living being's mind. And I have such knowledge because now I'm trained to do that, too. I didn't know it back then. I stood there, like an idiot, while it tried to possess me twice more. I thought it was just a strange case of "E.T. stopped working", but as I explained before, the truth was far simpler: the Sectoid had unsuccessfully tried to possess me, and it didn't know why. And it was pissing it off. After some more attempts, it simply stopped trying, and raised its weapon. I'd never seen an alien weapon before. That's when my brain told me to leg it. You'd think I'd have listened to such sound advice. Oh, normally I would have, but I was quite proud at the time. I was more fearful of dying like a coward, than I was afraid of dying at all. So I spat at the wee thing. Yes, I spat at a pint-sized alien midget who happened to have a plasma pistol. I'd have loved to have something heavier in my hands, something to throw at him besides insults, but alas.

Thing is, it worked. The fucker probably did not expect it. I mean, I don't blame it. Had our roles been switched, I'd have expected something else from my part. I don't know, screams, maybe stoic acceptance of death... But spit? Really?

In any case, as I was saying, the alien did not expect that, and recoiled for a few seconds, before deciding that yes, now was the perfect time to be pissed and to atomise the puny human.

That was also the moment when the Sectoid suffered a severe case of ballistic trauma to the brain. I stood there, like an idiot, while four men (to be precise, three men and a woman) emerged from I don't know where and approached me. I could bore you with the details, or I could just say that I'd never seen their uniforms, their weapons, and frankly, I think that hearing them talk so calmly about aliens was what drove me totally over the edge. That was the exact moment where I lost my shit. _Oh, so_ _that_ _was when you decided to leg it!_ Yes it was. Best idea of that night, mind you.

Come to think of it, the moment where I first had a glimpse of XCOM personnel was also the moment where my body decided to make me piss myself. But that was twenty years ago. Now I piss myself only in the direst of circumstances.

But that was all in the past. That night had long been over, thankfully.

"Colonel?"

But so was this one, and with it my few precious hours of sleep.

"Colonel, sir? Radio Freedom's here, sir."

I opened my eyes without even realising it, and came to face the harsh reality that was Cpl. Hammond's face. The man was as loyal to the cause as everyone else onboard of the Avenger, and packed one mean left hook, but his face could have moved a Berserker to tears. He wasn't ugly, but he did have an impressive, almost impossible amount of scars, moreso than many veterans I'd had the privilege to work with. He may not have officially seen as much combat as some of the men and women fighting for XCOM, but he did suffer regardless. He used to be a milkman way before the war, back when the world was less strange and more populated than now. After the invasion, he immediately joined the Resistance. ADVENT is never kind to rebels. In any case, that's why I kept him almost always with me, whenever I was scheduled to interact with the outside world. That being the various Resistance outposts in the immediate proximity of the Avenger. Many considered the shadow of our ship to be a synonymous for safety, and they weren't far from the truth.

"What about?" I asked, not remembering why on Earth I'd be summoned in place of the Commander."  
"The interview, sir?" Oh. Right.  
"Ah." I muttered, details flowing through my mind. "Yes, now I remember. Do lead the way, Corporal."

* * *

The "interview room" wasn't what I had expected. First of all, it wasn't a room, but an old and decrepit McDonald's. Had the food not completely rotted away in the span of twenty years, I might have tried my luck. Secondly, it was so full of dust that I was almost glad the giant holes in the walls were present, probably a side effect of the war: either the aliens really didn't like chicken, or they simply had a knack for shelling things with plasma. Thirdly, the young woman sitting right in front of me at the dusty old family table didn't look like a journalist to me. Despite the apparent lack of hygiene and the overused if very practical clothes, she was quite cute. I knew that had we met before the war, in more favourable circumstances, I might have shamelessly flirted with her. _Well, I could do that even now. I am, after all, a war hero._ Yes, but that's beside the point. _Oh, is it now? Pariah never goes first base with lowly Resistance fighters?_ Bloody hell I do, but as I told you, that's not the point. _Am I talking to myself in my own mind?_ Oh, I am.

"Before we begin, sir, would you like to point out something, or... I don't know, anything?" Her question, sudden as it was, made me think a little. _Point out that you'd take her out on a date, ay chap?_ I ignored the filthiest recesses of my mind, and answered seriously. "There will be many details about me that I won't say. I also am not allowed to freely talk about either my comrades, the Avenger... You know, the ship... And many operations I've conducted. I still will be able to answer most of your questions, I suppose, but not all of them, sadly." I smiled a bit. "Sorry."  
She shrugged, slightly smiling in response. "No matter, we understand. Radio Freedom will get the truth one day or another."  
While I was unsure whether that was a joke or a promise, I knew it would happen regardless. A couple of other people entered into the room, placing a couple of oversized microphones around me and the lovely reporter, who also had a notebook and about half a dozen pens. Well, anything for the press, I suppose.

"Now, before we begin, I'm Emily Gallant. Pleasure to meet you, sir... ?" _Oh, she's fishing for your name! She's fishing for your name!_ I once again ignored my own mind, but I was right: she wanted my name, which I did not want to divulge so freely. "Pariah will suffice", I said, grinning. "Sorry to disappoint you, but you'll find many on the Avenger are quite reluctant to divulge their personal names. We prefer to use our callsigns." This prompted the young woman to write something on her notebook, and then signal one of her two attendants, who proceeded to turn on the mics. I was officially undergoing my first interview ever. _Where's the recorder? I don- Oh, never mind._

"Liberation Network here! I'm Emily Gallant, and today we finally get a close look at one of the brave souls who risked their lives every day to free us of ADVENT and their alien masters. Thank you for joining us, Colonel." _Don't fuck it up, mate! Don't. Fuck it. Up._ I smiled a bit, before bowing my head and raising it back up at eye level.  
"Now, Colonel, may we have more details about you as a person?" Asked Miss Gallant, already fishing for juicy information about me.  
"That depends on what you want to know." _Oh, great, you fucked up._  
"Well... For starters, tell us where you were born, when, the usual."  
I took a deep breath. "I was born in what is now known as the Western European Sector. I won't be more specific than that for the location. However, I was born in 1996, twenty years before the war. That makes me more than forty years old, I suppose."  
She scribbled a few things on her impressive amount of paper. "You mentioned earlier that many of your comrades are reluctant to divulge their real names. What is yours?"  
"Pariah." I answered. "And why Pariah?" _Oh, I think she hit a nerve._ "That is a long story." _Yep, she hit a nerve._  
"Fair enough. Since you were born before the war, did you serve with XCOM back then?"  
"No, I wasn't old enough. As Central, well, my superior officer put it, at the time XCOM was looking for experienced people to combat the alien threat. I was just a 20-year old student, they had no use for me. I didn't even know XCOM existed, as didn't most of the world population."  
Gallant scribbled longer this time, before going on to the next question. "I see. Did you join XCOM right after the invasion?"  
I shook my head negatively. "No. From what I could gather from Central and some of my comrades, XCOM ceased to exist after the invasion. I don't know what became of it, but I suppose they were forced to live in the shadows for a long time, or they were wiped out. I lived outside the ADVENT cities with my family for some years, trying to adjust to life. I eventually joined the Resistance, but it took me some time to make up my mind."  
"How so?" She asked. It was a fair question, truth be told.  
"We'd just been through a two-month long war against beings that we didn't even believe existed. On top of that, we lost, and the world we knew was no more. Now aliens ruled over us. Can you believe it?" I laugher, probably hysterically. "I sure as hell didn't, for a while. I didn't want anything to do with the world as it had become, I just wanted things to go back to normal, but..." I paused, unable to find the words.  
"But?" She asked, eager for an answer and, why not, an insight of how the world was before the war.  
"Well, let's put it like this. The mainstay of every dictatorship is a black-and-white view of things: you're either pro-current government, or you're a despicable traitor, a degenerate, a danger to society. That's how it's always worked. Stalin did that, Hitler did that, Mussolini, Kim-Jong Il, back to the very beginning of time. Then, you've got the non-stop, 24/7 propaganda. It's not just a way to convince preexisting people that the ones in charge are the good guys, it's also a way to indoctrinate the newborn: if you live in a world where the only source of information is ADVENT, you tend to believe it. Finally, there was this sense of wrongness."  
"I'm afraid that 'sense of wrongness' is extremely vague and unspecific. I'll hold you on this one." And she was right. It was vague, but how could I fully explain how the world the aliens wanted us to live in wasn't real? _Give it a try. It can't be any harder than anything you've done in these twenty years.  
_ "It's..." I paused again, uncertain on which words to use. "Have you ever heard of utopia? A perfect society, in a perfect world, to put it simply. The Elders were trying to make us believe that their rule was the most enlightened, the most perfect ever conceived. This is a completely alien concept to me, and possibly the most abhorrent. There is no such thing. That, and you'd better not have the nerve to come to my planet, slaughter everyone you meet, corral the survivors in what's left of the urban world, and call it 'a perfect rule'". _Your hands are shaking, old chap._ I took a deep breath, to calm myself. "I just... I just didn't buy it. I also admit I was, and still am, extremely xenophobic in regards to the aliens. I hardly trust people, let alone aliens. After I became even more disillusioned with the Elders, I simply told my family that I was going to join the Resistance."  
The reporter understood that I was about to become very, very serious, and let me go on. "We fought over it, of course, but not as much as I'd expected. My family wanted me to be safe. Shit, I wanted to be safe. I thought that it couldn't be that way under the aliens, and that it was better to make them go away, or die trying. In the end they understood, though, if not outright approved."  
"Would you then say things turned out for the best?" She inquired, prompting me to laugh again.  
"Oh, hardly. Finding the Resistance was difficult, to say the least. Let me get one thing clear: in my country there's a tradition of resisting against an invader, so the Resistance was everywhere, literally. I dare say we were one of the most stubborn peoples the aliens ever had the mispleasure of pissing off. That means that they were knew to strike hard and fast, and then melt back into the shadows. That also means they knew how to hide. You can't risk the lives of your comrades for a snitch, something that I'm sure you know." She nodded. "But eventually I found myself within their ranks, and I served with them for many years. It wasn't until recently that I found XCOM." I paused once more. "Or, well, to be honest, they found me. But that's a story for another time."  
She kept on writing down notes, the most impressive amount I'd ever seen in my lifetime. Not even I wrote down as much when I was in school. "I see." This time she was the one to take time to find the right words. "Now, if you don't mind, a bit about you, as a soldier." _"Soldier" is quite a big word, isn't it? I'd say "armed pizza boy".  
_ "I've participated in over 50 missions around the globe, with over 80 kills and counting. If you think this is an impressive record, you should probably see some of my comrades. They could open a bank account with all those headcounts." She smirked. She probably found it funny. _Maybe she's laughing at you, not with you._ Fuck off.  
"Care to share some stories with us?" Maybe she said that jokingly, but I doubted it. Nevertheless, I would indulge her. Just not today.  
"I might, but definitely not this time. I'm old and tired, and I'm to be deployed shortly in Egypt." A large grin made its way to my face. "Sorry. It's classified information."  
She shook her head, but with a smile, before letting out a sigh and writing down the last of her notes. "Fine, Colonel, have it your way. We're done for today, but I do expect another interview from you."  
I stared right into her eyes, like the playa I was. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Miss Gallant." _Oh, that was smooth._

I then took my leave, accompanied by my trusted Corporal, who'd been standing right behind me for the past... I don't know. Must've been quite some time, though.  
"The Commander sent word, sir." As always Hammond was particularly talkative. "The Avenger will change route within two hours, and the team's been hand-picked already."  
I nodded in acknowledgement. "Details of the mission?"  
"Classified, sir, as always. They'll let you know once you're en route."  
One thing to be said about XCOM: they knew how to build up the suspence.


	2. Chapter II - Intro, Part 2

It is my firm belief that Egypt is shit. That is not due to any sort of prejudice towards Egyptians or its historical, political and geographical connotation, not at all, merely a side-effect of the intense and completely unreasonable urbanisation ADVENT put (what was left of) the Earth through. Apparently the aliens didn't care for us, they just wanted to build immense megalopolises with state-of-the-art services and omnicidal gene therapy clinics. I'd been there on vacation once or twice, when I was younger. Funny people, if dutiful, the Egyptians. During the invasion they put up an extremely fierce resistance, stubborn and relentless. The desert did offer some sort of relative safety from the aliens. No matter where you're from, extremes of heat and cold kill you all the same. Alas, it wasn't enough. Egypt fell, just like the rest of the world. _Just like your ears, if this dreadful silence continues._  
There was silence in the Skyranger. We just lost a couple of rookies during that raid. The ADVENT Administration, while besieged on all sides by the very people they were (not) protecting a mere months before, was still as ruthless and deadly as ever. Still abducting civilians, if possible, to further the plans of the Elders. Still raiding isolated outposts, still putting on that façade of righteousness that didn't quite shine like before. In the Commander's opinion, they would be eradicated eventually, but not without great costs. Such is the price of war. There were 5 people in the Skyranger, plus a robotic unit, designation "EMPEROR". I personally gave it its name. Always loved Warhammer. Could not resist. I also personally pleaded with Chief Engineer Shen to give it a deep, resoundinc warrior-like voice, to better fit its pompous but apt name. I mean, she called her GREMLIN unit "Rover", why could I not call... Am I fangirling? _Yes, you are._

In any case, we were getting back to the Avenger. Home, as much as home a spaceship can be. True, it was full of commodities of sorts, for a soldier, but it's just not the same. Once there, though, that feeling of mild unease disappeared. I almost instantly found my way to the bar with the human components of my team, eager for a round or two, or three, or four hundreds. 18 months of war, and still I was sort of deeply hit whenever someone died in action. You know, there's a reason why nobody gets a callsign before a certain amount of time or missions have passed: that's because if we see them as people, we may put them above the mission. Yes, true, we all strive to make sure everyone gets out alive, be they green as grass or grizzled and bloodied, and there is a deep, very deep sense of camaraderie amongst us, but that's not the point. Point is, it's war: you have an objective, and you have to complete it as ruthlessly and quickly and efficiently as you can. Especially against an enemy that neither asks for, nor gives quarter. It's like... Let me try to explain. Imagine that you're in the 1940s, in Poland, and you're a Jew. One day the Wehrmacht comes barging in, and you've heard that some bloke named Adolf Hitler wants to exterminate you for what you are, for who you are. You can't hide, because you know they'll find you eventually, or someone will rat you out. You can't run, because they can run faster than you. That's the difference between a war and a genocide: you can reason with your enemy in war, and maybe you can agree that it's a pointless thing to do, to slaughter each other. Genocide doesn't work this way. It's you or them. There are no explanations, no blurred lines, no depths of depravity left untouched.  
That's what the aliens wanted. Us. We weren't letting them take us, but we were letting them win, maybe. Maybe.

* * *

"Maybe?" Gallant's voice shook me from my somewhat coherent rant, making me jump on my chair.  
"What?" I uttered, automatically, pointlessly surprised by what was a legitimate question to a very, very controversial statement.  
"What do you mean by 'letting the aliens win'? I mean, seriously, what does that even mean?" There was a note of irritation fueled by a sense of righteousness in her voice, and I almost felt guilty for a second. Therefore, I was in a hurry to explain.  
"He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." I paused. "Do you know what that is?" She shook her head, negatively. "It's a quote from Friedrich Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil. You're probably too young to have read him, but basically it means-"  
"It means that to beat a monster you need another monster." She interrupted me almost instantly. "That you can't play fair with someone who doesn't, and that if you want to win you have to learn to play by no rules at all."  
I admit that I was surprised. "So you did read Nietzsche, after all."  
"No", she said, "I merely understand the concept. But why do you say that?" She inquired. I noticed her writing hand had stopped writing for a while, hinting that she took what I said to heart.  
"Because we had our own society back then. Before the war we prided ourselves on having created a civil, peaceful society where violence had almost no place. We still knew war, mind you, that's what the human race has ever done, but it wasn't nearly as endemic as it used to be, say, a hundred years ago. Then the aliens hit us hard, and destroyed it. Can we regain that kind of life by simply standing idle, while they slaughter us?"  
"The people in ADVENT-controlled cities lived that kind of life, no?" She inquired, counteracting my statement.  
"No, that's different. Complacency and submission are something entirely different. It may look the same kind of life I had, but if it is so, it's merely on the surface. Besides, this wasn't really life. It's not life if you can get freely abducted, experimented and then disposed of with the blessing of those who call themselves your benefactors."  
"But yet they lived."  
"Temporarily."  
"We all live temporarily." _Now, there she has a point._  
"But that's not life."  
"Life is about staying alive, isn't it?" _Now she has another one._  
"Strictly speaking, it may be. But life back then was different."  
"And maybe that's your problem."  
 _Ok, I did not expect that._ "Beg your pardon?"  
She stayed silent for a few seconds, almost as if she regretted saying that. "With all due respect, sir, I think..."  
"Go on, I don't bite." I urged her, sensing her hesitation.  
"Well, last time you told me how many people resented XCOM and the Resistance, how they were just born into this world and knew of no other thing. No other society, no other culture, no other... Anything, really. Well, I was very little when the war came, I have pretty much no memory of how things were before, but I understand it because I was brought up with the Resistance, I lived with this kind of people all my life. You're trying to restore a past glory that will never, ever be the same."  
 _Shit, now I'm out of sensible things to say. This is a solid point she's got there, old chap._ "No, we can't." I conceded. "But maybe we can do better." I paused. "Let me explain: it's like breaking a glass. Maybe you can't put the pieces back together, but you can still use them to make, like... A mosaic?" _Did you really quoted Moira Brown?_ I did. _You quoted something from Fallout?_ It's a good quote. _It's a videogame!_ It's a  good videogame.  
"I see your point, Colonel, but I'm not entirely sure." She said, not entirely doubting my words, but not entirely accepting them either.  
"I have a feeling that we're not exactly talking about me during these interviews, Miss Gallant, I think we're debating philosophy." I joked, to which she smiled slightly.  
"True. You were going to tell me about..."  
"Operation: Night Storm, yes. My latest trip to Egypt."  
"Indeed. But this time, please, start from the beginning, will you?"  
I smiled a bit, almost sardonically so. "Right, where to begin..."

* * *

The team had been waiting for me for a mere ten minutes. _Thirty._ TEN minutes. Not like they had anything better to do. I wasn't to take command of this particular unit. Although technically I was the equivalent of a Colonel, and in fact I was sometimes called one, Psi Ops like me had a different hierarchy. I was a Magus, the highest rank attainable to those who entered the Psi Lab and learned all that there was to learn on Psi... Stuff. There was a wide spectrum of Psi power, from 0 to I don't even know where. 0 to 30 meant that you were like a hole waiting to be filled. Weak, unwilling. PTSD-afflicted people, depressed, stressed, broken men and women. Not just these kinds of people, but they were definitely included. Most of mankind was between, if I remember correctly, 40 to 60. You know, from mildly weak willed to mildly strong willed. 70 to 100 meant that you were a fighter. Not necessarily gifted, but with the proper training they might make something useful out of you. But the real deal was what were those who scored more than 100. I don't know the details of the story, but a French girl scored the highest amount ever recorded in history, during the initial invasion. I don't even know if it's real, or if it's just some urban legend spread by someone with nothing better to do. _Tell them how much you scored. Come on._ Not yet, my sweetheart, not yet. _Wanker._ Love you too.  
Anyway, I was- no, I am a Magus. I won't yet say my score, nor am I sure you'll ever know it. You know, classified information and all that. Let's just say that the average Psi Soldier can and will kill almost anything with their power, and will be able to cast a relatively various amount of, say, "techniques" (in absence of a better word). That is, provided they have their Psi Amp at the ready. Otherwise, they're not that different from a normal human being, if not for white hair and purple eyes, which are side-effects of tremendous amount of physical and psychological stress. They can still "play tricks" without a Psi Amp, though. You know, levitating small things, slightly altering perceptions, that sort of stuff. It does sometimes cause physical pain though, especially migraines. Then there are those who are gifted or just seasoned enough that can do the same with more efficiency and potency. Even without their Psi Amp, these men and women can do great deeds.  
I can potentially warp reality. Without my Psi Amp. I'm not unique, but I am special. _Some would say very special._ Fuck off, I was trying to be serious. _No, you were trying to be smug._ True enough. Anyway, I can go outside the limits of the average, even above-average Psi Op. It's not easy, and sometimes it's really, really painful. As a matter of fact, I very rarely do it, since it's not something I can fully control. I mostly stick to the usual Psi stuff. You know, direct attacs, mind control, breaking the laws of physics and overall creating small supernovae and black holes. Lots of fun. Not as much as warping reality, but let's say I like to play safe.  
 _You're going off-track._ Oh, right.

I was the only Psi Op in that team, as usual. Psi-gifted people are hard to find, and their training takes a lot of time. I knew the team's greenest rookie, a woman named... Well, honestly I don't remember. I think she came from Argentina, though. Good looking, that's for sure.  
I knew one of the team's two Sharpshooter. This one in particular was Lieutenant William Wilkes, condenamed Kingsguard, or sometimes Queensguard, but he really didn't like Queensguard because someone mistook him for a woman. He did not take it well. Anyway, he was born before the war, served as a marksman in the SAS for quite a long time. He fought in the invasion, too. He liked killing Sectoids, Thin Men, Mutons and whatnot, but those were the only ones he could kill. Not for lack of trying, mind you, it's just... To put it in his words, "Regular guns work for fuck-all against Sectopods, mate." Guns back then were different. Twenty years ago the world's armed forces had little warm guns that shot lead bullets. Fair enough, if you're targeting flesh, but the aliens really wanted to take the piss, and so mechanised warfare was brought to a whole new lever. But now there are no standing armies, just us and the Resistance. The Resistance has pretty much anything they can scavenge, which means a wide spectrum from "total shit" to "maximum mayhem". But we have plasma weaponry and power armour. That is pretty fucking sweet.  
Then we had our Ranger. Colonel Peter Van Doorn. Man's skill and reputation were legendary. He served with the original XCOM, he fought during the invasion, he survived for twenty years, either on his own or with others. Everyone had heard of him. His face was always on the news. Everyone was on the lookout for him. One of the toughest sons of bitches I've ever known. Doesn't talk much about his past, I only know that he used to be a UN official, and that XCOM pulled him out of a tight spot. I never asked him much out of sheer respect.  
The more experienced recruit was what we'd call a "Squaddie". It means you can pick your own specialization, but you still have to prove yourself in the eyes of the team. This one was a Polish farmer-turned-freedom fighter whose name I dare not repeat, for it gives me a headache. He was a Sharpshooter too, and I was told he was pretty good.  
And then there was EMPEROR. Written in capital letters. Not Emperor, EMPEROR. The aliens had MECs, turrets (which we too have, by the way) and Sectopods (no, we don't have those, unfortunately). We had SPARKs. Basically a MEC, just way better. It didn't tell jokes, as JULIAN and CENTURION did, but it could shoot you in the chest with an Elerium Cannon, or wipe you off the face of the universe with a plasma blaster. And if that didn't work, it'd just knock on your face with a mechanised power fist. Maybe it doesn't sound technological, but it does the job admirably.  
We were all sitting, all nervous in our own way. The veterans like me and Kingsguard knew that half the job was keeping our head cool, but we also knew that a tiny bit of fear does wonders to improve reaction time, reflexes and the sort. It makes you plan ahead, it keeps you on your toes. Fear must be dominated, lest it takes you on a spinning joy ride towards getting your sorry ass killed.  
The rookies, however, were visibly nervous. Repetitive gestures, deep breaths, equipment checks every ten seconds or so. Veterans checked their weapons and equipment too, just not as often as that.  
And then there was EMPEROR. EMPEROR did not check its equipment. EMPEROR was a robot. EMPEROR did not give a cybernetic fuck.  
"ALL SYSTEMS OPTIMAL. UNIT IS COMBAT-READY." _Does XCOM pay it by the word?_ We don't get paid. _That explains a lot._

"Firebrand ready to deploy!"  
The time had come. Heart pounding like a hammer, we touched the ground.  
We came bearing debts to be paid.


	3. Chapter III - Operation: Night Storm I

Warm, hard concrete. No, it wasn't concrete. It was that alien alloy we used to make ammunition. My Psi Amp was made of it, plus an Elerium Core or two. Our Grenadiers' grenades were made of it. So were our Rangers' swords, and our Marksmen's rifles, and truth be told, so was half the world. It wasn't that much dissimilar from concrete. Just harder, sturdier, more adaptable. One thing to give the Elders: they knew how to build. They knew how to adapt. Brazil's megalopolises were made of this. So were Egypt's sprawling citites, America's new urban realities, Europe's old centers of commerce. I knew for a fact that Rome was made of this foreign material. Yes, it still stood. It was, after all, the Eternal City.  
That's why it didn't feel right to me. Too malleable, too easily produced, so easily a testament to what the Elders wanted to show us: an industrialised reality where all served them. I never bought that lie from any human, I wouldn't buy it from... Them. Call me xenophobic if you must. I can't say I'm proud of that label, but if that saved mankind, I was happy to pay the price. The aliens were no different from us, not much. They told the same lies, cast the same illusions, used the same means of repression as our worst tyrant. They might have come from another world, or another galaxy, sure enough. They might have called themselves and their precious little Administration "enlightened rule", but here's my personal opinion: they were just like us. They were as human as us. As feeble, selfish, cowardly as any of us. They just didn't have the stomach to admit it. I could be cowardly at times. I could be brutal. I could be the very scum of the Earth made form and manifest will. I didn't hide it. I didn't embrace it either. It's just who I am. I admit it freely, for the more I know myself, the more I know my enemy. Had I had enough time, I'd have explained it to the rookies in my squad: that the first step to defeating our enemy was to understand how they reasoned. How they lived, how they breathed, how they measured every little detail to enslave us, kill us, process us like meat to the slaughterhouse.  
The first step was, apparently, to industrialise us. I kept seeing buildings, and buildings, and buildings. There was no end to them. Fortunately, that meant we could hide pretty easily. Lots of shadows in these cities. Lots of places where ADVENT didn't go either. Like South American favelas.  
Did you know Ciudad Juarez scared the fuck out of the aliens, and that they had to fight inch by inch to subdue it? That the cartels scattered, reformed, and proceeded to hunt the aliens down one by one, in a bloody war that, frankly, was alarmingly in the humans' favour? It is known, after all: harsh landscapes breed harsh men.  
I'd heard stories during my numerous stays in Colombia, Brazil and Chile. Stories that would chill even the Elders' fragile, weak bones.

But no matter that. We hit the ground. Boots on the alien alloy paving the street, covered by the shadows of some backwater alley. We were in enemy territory. Always were.  
We lived by roaring engines, the thundering of war machines. Didn't know much about how the others felt, but for me, I wasn't happy until I'd seen a dead alien at the end of the day. It wasn't just hatred, it was something more. A loathing, a deep, instinctive repulsiveness I did not know how to halt, nor was I inclined to do so. I'd always prided myself on being the most open-minded person in the world, and yet I was failing gloriously in that regard, when thinking of aliens. But no matter.  
There was a shack, about two hundred meters from where we just landed. Resistance safehouse, of course, there were plenty of those in every single ADVENT city. The sound reasoning behind it is that you can't resist only by raiding and hiding in the mountains, or in the desert, or somewhere else where the enemy will eventually find you. Sometimes you just have to hide in plain sight, strike deep and from within.  
There were probably two to three dozen fighters in that safehouse, and apparently they had gone unnoticed by ADVENT for quite a long time. They were the ones who informed us of our target: a particularly stubborn collaborator (whose name was apparently of Central African origin, and totally beyond my spelling capacity) who'd been feeding the aliens with all manner of information about the Resistance. Maybe they promised her a way out, a means to escape the global annihilation of our species, or maybe... _Does it really matter?_ Maybe not right now, since our orders were still the same, but in the long run we'd really liked what moved some humans to turn on other humans. _Just because the Elders are in charge, doesn't mean that people have changed. People want the same things they wanted before._  
"Ok lads, listen closely." I whispered to the two rookies attached to the team. "The Colonel here is a veteran with more than twenty years of experience. You follow his lead, you'll get out alive, I promise." I didn't particularly like the burdens of command, but that wasn't why I put myself under Van Doorn's directives. He was simply better than me. He started gesturing Kingsguard to fuck off to an elevated position quickly. The man, who as I said before had many years of experience as a marksman in the SAS (and in that regard was a far more competent commander than I could ever be), had already scanned the area with his eyes. He knew exactly where to go without people pointing it out, and frankly they almost never did: I trusted both carefully planned actions and my teammates' instincts, and so did many of the officers, including the Colonel.  
"Alright, I've got a plan." Van Doorn, callsign Bandit, threw what appeared to be a beacon of some sort as long as he could, then kneeled and looked on a very technological piece of equipment for a few seconds. "This particular sector is a killzone, but we don't have time to go for the safe route. Our objective is this alien collaborator the Resistance found after a few months of investigations. They managed to disable a convoy that was to bring him somewhere secret, out of our reach. Unfortunately now that ADVENT's in full-scale war against pretty much the entire population of Earth, they don't take any chances. There are already several unit circling around the collaborator, the area is constantly on lockdown until another convoy picks the fucker up, and patrols looking for us. Which means we must first thin them out a bit." We stood silent, awaiting further instructions. "Squaddie, link up with Kingsguard and follow his lead. We're going to need precision shots from afar. Go, now." The poor recruit had no choice but to cross the road without being seen, before disappearing from sight, blending in the dark again. Bless night ops.  
"Pariah, you'll take EMPEROR and be our point man. I'll try to draw as many ADVENT sons of bitches as possible towards you two, I want a distraction so that I can slip past the security cordons unnoticed, put the traitorous bastard under my personal brand of custody, and then we get the fuck out without even thinking twice. That means I want you to cause as much mayhem as possible, but wait for my signal, copy?" I nodded. "Yes, sir."  
"And you, rookie, you're coming with me. I'll show you the ropes." The recruit mumbled something, but I couldn't discern the words. "Good luck, gentlemen."  
Bandit and his new apprentice started moving quickly through the alleys, and I heard a couple of muffled grunts, meaning that some quiet killings had already taken place. I too started to move, bringing along EMPEROR, who followed me obediently. _Maybe 'cause it's a robot, and therefore lacks basic concepts like-_ Can you fuck off just  once?  
The area was completely devoid of civilians, due to the full curfew imposed by ADVENT. Even if I didn't have a giant metal beast walking beside me, I'd still have been shot on sight. I mean, had I been a civilian. I was XCOM, so of course they'd shoot me on sight. How nice of them. In any case, I was walking in the middle of the road, avoiding lampposts and other luminous entities, looking for a better position. I found it in the form of an ADVENT truck, one of those used to quickly deploy troops anywhere needed in the city. Not as fancy as their dropships, but still reasonably futuristic-looking. It was turned over, half destroyed. Probably the first casualty of the rebellion. Burned to a crisp, with a couple of troopers still inside, their skin as black as their armor. Curious that bodies and equipment hadn't been removed yet. Probably the area was still heavily contested, if you don't count the curfew.  
I had to wait merely a literal minute before the signal came. A flare, thrown right in front of the truck, red smoke pouring out of it. Soon after that, the incomprehensible jabbering of the sorry hybrids that tried to pass as human beings.  
"Pariah to Bandit: how many are coming towards my position? Over." I whispered over the communication channel, hoping for a swift and less than worrying answer.  
"Three patrols. I see two officers and maybe half a dozen grunts. Three Lancers coming your way though, they're literally-"  
I looked up, and instantly moved my head just in time for an electrified, spiked baton to narrowly miss my head and hit the truck.  
"- running."

I did just say the baton missed, yes, but I still felt like the elerium-powered baton released some sort of small shockwave, which is entirely possible. I felt my hair tremble, and I instantly smelled what must've been burnt alloy. Lancers were the aliens' counterpart for our pre-invasion riot police, only better: faster, way faster than any person I'd ever seen, save maybe a few select individuals. You couldn't just outrun a Lancer. Their stun batons were originally used to sedate rioting civilians, but as time went on they didn't think twice about setting them to lethal power. Had I been hit I may have survived, but I would've been badly hurt. Having power armour surely helps. Civilians, though... They'd have been fried from the inside. Not a good sight, mind you.  
EMPEROR registered the hostile action taking place, and his armoured form swiftly (for a massive robot) turned to face the black-clad figure, who tried to raise his baton again, only to find out that it was stuck in the truck. _Was that intentional?_ No. _It better not be._ The creature uttered something in his alien and disgusting language, but was cut short when the SPARK unit grabbed him by the head, tightening its hold so much that no more than half a second later the Lancer's neck broke. EMPEROR then threw the lifeless body against another Lancer, who just happened to be trying to flank the truck, and by extension me. The hybrid soldier couldn't dodge in time and was hit by his own dead comrade. The sweet sound of his pained grunts while he rolled on the concrete was like honey to me. EMPEROR did not waste time and proudly jumped on it, prompting a primal scream of fear to abruptly end. It was in that moment, when EMPEROR was too distracted to help me, that the third Lancer appeared. I was lying ass on the ground, still incredulous and trying to recover from the surprise that I noticed it only too late. Then a loud noise, and a coloured beam split the air in two as the Lancer's upper body simply ceased to exist, blasted away by what I wager was one of our snipers.  
"Pariah to... whoever was that?" The nervous voice that answered hinted that it was one of our two rookies.  
"I-it was me, sir."  
"Good job, kid. Keep it up." I said, trying to praise the poor recruit.

I quickly glanced at the smoking wreck that used to be the Lancer, thinking that it smelled like victory, before hearing the sound of gauss weapons hitting the armoured frame of EMPEROR, who didn't even need a vocal order to engage the ADVENT patrols. Soon enough orders and screams filled the air, as eight or so hybrids tried to bring down a robot. Mostly unsuccessfully. I quickly left cover to assess the situation: I could see an officer, and I knew he was carrying explosives. They all were. _Mind some fireworks?_ Oh, not at all, I did not mind. I did have to get closer, though. I quickly moved, exploiting the firefight EMPEROR was carrying on with brutal efficiency, cutting down a couple of enemies while at the same time taking minimal damage. I found cover behind a holographic pylon, those used to display emergency directives from the Administration, and I quickly evaluated the distance. I could hit the bastard now. The officer I had in mind noticed me, however, and quickly screamed and order while pointing in my direction. Two troopers fired on me, narrowly missing. Another shot, this time from the officer hit the armour, and I grunted in pain. Nothing broken, maybe a bruise or two. Still better than having my left leg blown off. I readied my Psi-Amp, focused both my mind and my eyes on the officer, and then released the psychic power. I heard a beep, a confused grunt and then a loud boom. One officer less, and possibly a leg or an arm from the two troopers standing beside him. EMPEROR was rampaging through the remains of the patrols, with two or three troopers simply running away. Was it fear, or just a tactical maneuver?  
"Pariah to Bandit, what's the status, over?" I asked over the comms channel, hoping for a satisfying response. Nothing but silence.  
"Pariah to Bandit, do you copy, over? Sir?" Silence, again.  
Then I saw it. A dropship, flying past me, heading straight in the direction where the Colonel and his protégé were going.  
"Pariah to Bandit, dropship coming after you, I repeat, dropship heading straight to your location!" I was alarmed, truly, we were not expecting the aliens to respond so swiftly. Maybe it was a case, or maybe they were more prepared than we knew.  
Soon enough I heard fighting in the distance, and I was prepared to bet that Colonel Van Doorn would not give up without making them suffer. I advanced nonetheless, hearing the sound of plasma lances rupturing the atmosphere. It appeared as though Kingsguard and the other rookie were also punishing the invaders harshly. Good.  
EMPEROR stomped a maimed trooper, also firing his payload of explosives on another patrol, allowing me to advance unopposed.

That got my mind running. The only occasion that allows you to advance unopposed is when the enemy is broken. ADVENT was in full retreat all across the world, sure, but that's just half the truth: they were cornered. A cornered enemy never retreats, especially if they've been bred to live, fight and die for the Elders. My guts knew I was about to walk into an ambush, but just as they couldn't retreat, neither could I. I was more than eager to commit genocide against alien personnel, and I welcomed the chance to free the Earth. You could say that my indomitable spirit gave me the courage to pursue a numerically superior foe, but I suspect that the armored frame of EMPEROR contributed also.  
 _Where are they now?_ I wondered, taking point, being followed by EMPEROR. I could see the ADVENT personnel in the distance frantically forming a square around their VIP. In plain sight, too. Yes, this was definitely an am-

 _Fuck._

I felt a loud smashing sound and then a roar, turning around just in time to see a Berserker punch EMPEROR right in its frame, sending it flying backwards. Three Mutons appeared right behind it. Apparently they used the brute force of the Berserker to smash a wall to pieces just when I passed. Two Mutons wasted no time and started shooting at the SPARK unit, while the third one charged at me. I took a shot, hitting it in the chest, but could not take another. The impact of its head with my stomach, although protected by my armour, was still fucking painful, and I lost the capacity to breathe for a few seconds. I found myself on the ground being punched by a Muton's fists, an experience I heartily recommend to absolutely fucking no on, and then it stopped, raising its own personal green machine of death. I may have misheard, but I could've sworn... It was laughing, wasn't it?

I was cornered, and I admit I was terrified. I thought I'd die, and it wouldn't be the first time, so I did the only thing I could think of.

"ACH-PTOO!"

My spit flew a brief distance before landing on the Muton's face. A last act of defiance that made it recoil for a millisecond, surprised, and then raised its rifle with an angry growl: no more green beam of molecular disintegration, I bet it thought, not it's time to get personal. It's time to impale this fucker with a bayonet.  
A loud roar, the spinning of its bayonet, a mere second before my impending doom. What can people do in such a situation? Merely raise their hands, probably.

I just needed to raise one.  
A disturbed grunt, and its bayonet did not touch me. It did not move at all, in fact, immobilised while I lay on the ground with a hand pointed towards it.

"TO THE VOID WITH YOU, YOU FAT FUCK!"

A rift opened right behind it, a surge of energy of a color I could not recognise, pulling it towards its death. I heard it scream, and while I was sure the Muton was in an enormous amount of pain as it was being dragged to oblivion through a dimensional door, the sound of its agony was like honeyed wine to me. I pulled myself up, picking up my rifle, and closed the rift prematurely. Another scream, this time louder, filled the air, and the Muton looked in horror as all that remained of itself was half a torso, its head and a leg. I could've ended it, but no. I chose to make it suffer. I ignored the alien's pain and focused on the rest of the enemy squad. The Berserker was having a dick-measuring contest with EMPEROR, and it was winning. Time to fix that. Berserkers were easy to mind-control: their rage blinded them to anything else. I just needed to direct it elsewhere. I readied my Psi Amp, feeling that the target required additional precautions to be taken control of. While I'm certain I could've done it without a Psi Amp, I preferred not to take risks. I didn't want an even angrier Berserker, if there could ever be one.

Another surge of energy, and the Berserker's fists stopped mid-air, while the creature roared loudly in primate instinct. The two Mutons accompanying it were probably unaware that I survived my encounter with their colleague, so they didn't turn to face me, but they did eye the Berserker with a confused look on their face (or so I assumed they did), and took a step back or two. I exploited that moment of wavering to shoot one of them in the head, atomizing it in the process, and that's when the other one understood what was going on. The remaining Muton fired a shot at the Berserker, now under my control, and then another, and then another, while walking backwards. I could feel its fear, and that was one way of making me happy. The hulking frame of the 'Zerker lunged forward, pinning the shorter monster to the ground and savagely tearing its limbs off with nails and teeth. EMPEROR got back up on its feet, although visibly damaged. It did not speak.

"Follow me." I ordered it, catching my breath. "We must keep going."  
The robot gleefully acknowledged my command, and followed my lead. We had aliens to lure away from the others.


End file.
